


Playing Hazard

by iamtheunknown15



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Historical, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16066340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheunknown15/pseuds/iamtheunknown15
Summary: A slightly different take on how the events of 02x08 and those following might have unfolded.Disclaimer: This fic uses some exact dialogue from original show, especially in early chapters





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sitting at her mother’s desk in front of a pile of money and paperwork, Charlotte grimaced as she felt the presence of another entering the room, tensing at the sound of soft footsteps walking cautiously across the dark wooden floors. Any other day, the sound would have been a pleasant interruption from the task at hand – its source the object of her less and less reticent affections. However not now. Not with all that was going on – the desperate grief and deep pain that consumed her from the loss of her Ma and her need, now, to fend for the family.

She sighed heavily as she felt Isabella’s well-manicured hand rest gently on her shoulders, fighting the impulse to turn into the older woman’s bosom and fall apart entirely. She couldn’t break down. Not right now, with so much to be done. With the safety of her sister, Abigail, and God knows how many future innocent girls at stake. Besides, she doubted that even Isabella’s comfort could serve as a balm for the emptiness she currently felt.

“Don’t be kind or tears will come” the seated woman pressed wearily, resting her face in her hand in an attempt to maintain her composure. Much to her relief and regret, Isabella softly but swiftly removed her hand. “I need to be busy,” Charlotte explained, picking up another set of coinage.

“Then let me give you a task.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but inhale deeply, the weight of another looming responsibility threatening to topple her over like boulders added to Atlas’ shoulders. 

Isabella, her voice somewhat bright, seemed woefully unaware of just how fragile Charlotte’s state truly was. “Only money will free us from my brother,” the lady explained, resting her folded hands on the back of Charlotte’s chair. The younger woman turned to look at her. “I need the law’s help to secure my inheritance. Come with me.”

Wordlessly, a stunned Charlotte stood from her chair and exited the room. Isabella’s blue eyes widened, and she quickly followed. Swallowing nervously, she continued, “Charlotte, I am sorry for your loss,” she said sincerely, “But you promised your help…” 

Charlotte, on her part, tried to maintain her temper. She could hardly believe Isabella right now… going on about money and inheritance and turning to the law for help when that same law had just sentenced her Ma to be hanged. When she was trying to hold together the already fractured affairs of her family’s working class struggles amidst the far more significant and grave challenge of making sure Lucy was safe.

“I can’t stay here. It’s not fit for Sophia.”

That was the last straw, and the shorter woman ripped around, anger brimming in her chocolate brown eyes. “You’ve got your child,” she asserted, trying to talk Isabella into reason in spite of her irritation. “And your free of Lydia Quigley. My sister is in the sway of a dangerous man. Forgive me but your money has to wait.”

Isabella’s face fell. She hadn’t meant to upset Charlotte, nor diminish her strife. This wasn’t about the money right now, but yet it was. The money ensured safety. For her and for Charlotte. And most importantly for Sophia. It was only a matter of time until her brother hunted them all down. “Charl – ” she began, taking another step towards the younger woman’s retreating form.

“And as for this place not being suitable for your daughter,” Charlotte practically spat, “Seein’ as it’s where I’ve come from, that I’ll never be more than a tarnished whore at the end of the day and my home sordid, well, I imagine I won’t be much help to you in facin’ the fine gentlemen of the law. Clearly they’ve never been generous to my kind.” The woman’s words hit Isabella like a slap to the face, and with their weight still looming in the air, Charlotte again turned and strode down the stairs. 

~*~*~*~

Charlotte didn’t return for several hours. The sun had dipped into a gloomy dusk before Isabella heard the wooden door to the house open. She and Sophia were sitting in the kitchen over two hardly touched bowls of porridge. While Isabella struggled to eat some, both her lack of familiarity with the humble meal and the stress the situation and her earlier row with Charlotte had wrought on her stomach left her with no appetite. Sophia, on her part, merely shifted the gooey substance with her spoon, a look of dissatisfaction on her face that border on disgust. Isabella merely sighed.

Several moments after the door had opened, the woman heard the sound of heels in the hall and looked up to see Charlotte entering the kitchen. The brown-eyed woman still looked furious; however she addressed Isabella with an even, albeit tense, tone. “Lady Fitz, can I speak to you?”

The seated woman nodded, trying her best to not betray her nervousness. Standing, she looked first to Sophia. “Go clean up and prepare for bed, darling. I’ll join you in a short time.” To be honest, she had no idea when her conversation with Charlotte would end or what it would entail; however she doubted the brunette would want to speak to her more than the situation warranted.

Sensing the tension between her newly-found mother and Charlotte, Sophia rose without question and swiftly departed the room after extending a polite curtsy to Miss Wells. The room fell silent between the two remaining women, and Isabella listened until her daughter’s footsteps were out of earshot, vaguely making out the sound of a closing door upstairs.

Charlotte, too, must have been waiting for the blonde to reach her sister’s room, where Sophia and Isabella had been temporarily staying. Wordlessly, she gestured for Isabella to follow her out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs. Isabella followed as she was led to a small room on the third floor of the house, one that she had never seen before. Charlotte must have noticed the slight look of confusion on her face. “Jacob’s room,” she explained flatly. “He’s sleepin’ with Pa. Been havin’ nightmares.” She opened the door, allowing Isabella to enter first. It was a small space, a narrow bed made on up on the side of the room. A few small children’s toys were scattered across the floor – a wooden top, some clay marbles, a Bilbo catcher – and a couple children’s sketches were pinned up on the cracking plaster of the wall. A small kerosene lamp flickered on the floor, casting a glow over the room. Isabella couldn’t help but notice how beautiful Charlotte looked with the low light illuminating her features; however her spirits fell yet again as she once again registered the worry, despair, and indignation that shrouded the younger woman’s normally coquettish, kind features.

“I won’t keep you long.” Charlotte’s cockney accent pulled Isabella once more from her thoughts. “I just wanted to inform you of what we’ve learned.” The shorter woman’s arms were crossed on her chest – whether defensively or defiantly Isabella could not quite gauge. She imagine, much to her dismay, that it was likely both. The venom in Charlotte’s voice was clear as she named the violent men responsible for a series of heinous crimes. “Lords Fallon, Liddington, and a pack of title brutes have been rapin’ and killin’ girls.” Isabella’s face paled at the information. “They killed Kittey Carter. We have it from Fallon’s own mouth.”

“How – how do you know all of this?”

“Nancy Birch has entied her house an angel court,” the younger woman explained, unable to hold back her sense of satisfaction at the justice to be wrought at their hands. “And he’s goin’ to sign a confession sayin’ Quigley is their procuress.” At this point, Isabella’s jaw had fallen open, and the lady moved to speak before Charlotte gently halted her. “Your brother is their master.”

Isabella’s stomach churned at Charlotte’s revelation. “No…” she replied with confusion, brow furrowing. A part of her could not believe the information. Not her brother. She would have known, and, as beastly as he was, this would be unspeakably depraved – an abomination of the ninth circle of hell. After her utterance of disbelief, however, she allowed her mind to trace her memories, to discern most fundamentally her brother’s character throughout her life. She remembered his violence, the joys he took in manipulation, in cruelty. Not just at the moment he had damned her and the years following. But since he was a boy. She remembered the words a servant had once muttered when she was 6-years-old. The woman stood peering out the window at Harcourt as he slinged large rocks at several frightened young rabbits on the lawn of the estate, laughing jovially as one of the kit’s skulls was smashed by his doing. “Some of God’s creatures are simply born evil beyond repair.”

“It’s true,” Charlotte said softly, sad sympathy washing over her previously incensed visage.

Isabella nodded, swallowing heavily in an attempt to push the rising bile in her throat back down. “Your – your sister,” she managed, voice still quiet in shock. “She is safe?”

“Yes,” Charlotte nodded, smiling finally. “As safe as any of us might be until the hellhounds are fully caged.”

“Fallon – he’s signed the confession?”

At this, Charlotte shook her head, a look of apprehension returning to her face that she quickly masked with pragmatics. “It will be soon. Lucy’s hatred for him has him deeply shaken – more than her holding of a knife to his throat. He is strung by the shoulders at Nancy’s with a gag in his mouth. After a night of contemplatin’ like that, he’ll soon see he has no other choice.” The shorter woman noted the look of skepticism betrayed by Isabella’s eyes. “You and your daughter will be safe. All will be safer once they are off the streets. And until then, you and Sophia may stay here, in hidin’... if you desire,” Charlotte added, her gaze dropping from the noblewoman’s face, once again guarded.

Isabella’s sense of unease was not quite quelled by Charlotte’s assurances; however she nodded, truly grateful for all the younger woman was doing to ensure the safety of her daughter and herself. “Thank you, Charlotte,” she said with a low, almost sad voice as she noticed the woman still avoided her gaze. “I have the utmost gratitude for your… care,” Isabella said after a nervous hesitation. She noticed Charlotte flinch. “And your hospitality,” she added in an attempt to lessen the tension.

Charlotte chuckled bitterly in spite of herself. “It is no matter of hospitality,” she replied dismissively. “Merely logic. No man soul or soulness would expect the presence of a noblewoman of such esteem in such crude accommodations, as you made clear earlier.”

Isabella cringed at the disdain in the younger woman’s voice. “Charlot – ”

“Well I imagine you’d like to get downstairs to Sophia,” Charlotte interrupted. “She probably awaits your presence before retiring.”

Isabella signed softly and, after another look at the younger woman’s defensive posturing and cross face, turned to leave the small room in resignation. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, however, she hesitated. “Charlotte wait,” she interposed, much to her counterpart’s surprise. “I must apologize for my unkindness earlier.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she clearly struggled to maintain an even tone. “There is no need to apologize,” she replied curtly, again looking away from Isabella – a posturing that she now recognized that the younger woman assumed not from a lack of care, but as an attempt to protect herself, to conceal her true emotions beneath a mask. I am the master of pretend, Isabella remembered Charlotte once saying. Nervous but determined, the lady pressed on.

“Please Charlotte. I must insist that you give me a moment to explain.”

Charlotte sighed heavily, shaking her head in frustration, but after a moment she waved a flippant hand towards Isabella. “Go on then.”

“I – I didn’t mean for my words, my behavior towards you to cause such injury, Charlotte. My intentions were not as you understood them.” Charlotte scoffed acrimoniously, and Isabella breathed heavily. “I am sorry, you are right. I am disheartened to say that you did understand my intentions properly in all of their wrongness. But not my motivations.” At this, Charlotte looked at Isabella curiously. “Please – ” she cleared her throat in an attempt to assuage her anxiety, looking around the room for a chaise. “May we sit?”

Charlotte breathed deeply, clearly too emotionally exhausted to contest Isabella’s request, knowing full well now that the lady was determined. She moved to Jacob’s bed and sat on its end, legs spread lackadaisically patting the side opposite to her. Under any other circumstances, Charlotte might have laughed at the peculiar sight of Isabella, robed in her fine dress and extravagant hairstyling, attempting to sit properly on the small rugged mattress. Right now, however, she could hardly stomach to look at the woman who had to this morning been the object of her unquestioned if still denied affections.

“Charlotte,” Isabella started, eyes fixed on her hands folded neatly in her lap. “What I asked of you this morning, my insensitivity towards you and towards your grief, I am ashamed by my actions.” Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but the older woman stopped her gently. “No please, I must explain. This morning when I came to you, my head was fixed on a mission. Having Sophia here with me after so many years, I – I have been struck with a need to protect her beyond what I have ever felt before. What I ever imagined possible...”

“She relies on me completely,” Isabella continued to explain, finally daring to look at Charlotte, who, to her surprise, turned her head to face her. “I am her mother, and I needed – I need to care for my child.”

“As you could -- can do here,” Charlotte interjected, her voice rising elevated and determined. “Yes this is for Lucy. Is for Ma. For my family. But it has been for you too Isabella. You and Sophia’s will be safe from Quigley. From that beast.”

Isabella shook her head, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. “You can’t know that,” she said softly.

Charlotte’s brow furrowed in frustration. “We have Fallon in the palms of our hands. His confession is all but written and signed. We’ll have them. We’ll have all of them.” Hesitating slightly, she reached down and clasped Isabella’s hands where they sat folded on her lap, surprising the taller woman. “You must -- you must trust me, La -- Isabella,” she added earnestly, looking into the woman’s cerulean blue eyes.

Isabella exhaled raspily, a tear escaping one of her eyes. “I want -- I want so much to Charlotte. However I know my brother and his influence. He’s a powerful man, Charlotte, with many in his circle who stand behind him. Where reputation matters, money matters more, and he will be more than willing and capable of filling the pockets of anyone who might help him out of the noose.”

Charlotte reached up and used the pad of her thumb to brush the tear from Isabella’s cheek, tenderly, causing the other woman to shiver under her touch. “I understand that, but eventually the well must run dry. This confession, the evidence, it’s irrefutable.”

Isabella looked up to meet Charlotte’s gaze, finding it earnest and caring, the anger from earlier mutated into an impassioned desire for justice -- no, vengeance. She realized in that moment that the younger woman’s conviction was dogged and implacable. As much as fear and doubt plagued her mind and shook her to the bones, she wanted to trust that Charlotte was right. Further, she didn’t have many other options at this point. What could she do other than return to Harcourt’s side, betray this woman who she cared deeply for to align herself with a man more monstrous than she imagined?

“Alright,” Isabella relinquished, voice shaking, as she lifted a delicate hand which she placed on Charlotte’s cheek, warming when she felt the younger woman lean ever so slightly into her touch. "But please, be careful Charlotte. Harcourt is very dangerous —" 

She was interrupted by Charlotte placing a kiss on her palm, unwittingly sending a jolt electricity up Isabella’s poised spine. "I will."

Isabella swallowed, nodding. "I care for Sophia very much. But I care about you too, deeply."

Even in the dim light, she noticed her words made the younger woman’s cheeks flush a light pink. "And I you," Charlotte replied softly but genuinely. "I will make this right," she affirmed, moving closer to Isabella on the small bed.

"Thank you," the lady breathed, heart pounding in her chest. “And I know that I cannot return even a fraction of what you have given to me, of your kindness and bravery. However I wish to be there for you too Charlotte. If you’ll allow me.”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, a rush of emotions pooling in her brown eyes. Emotions that Isabella could detect but not perceive in the younger woman’s silence. She felt her stomach flutter as Charlotte closed the space between them, gently moving her own fingers to graze Isabella’s cheek before placing a soft kiss on the woman’s parted lips. “Thank you,” Charlotte said simply, almost too quietly for the noblewoman to hear.

In spite of sending the gravity of the gesture, of the circumstance, Isabella could also sense a subtle retreat in the brunette, a reticence that she was unaccustomed to witnessing in the normally brazen younger woman. “I — I best retire,” she said reluctantly, wanting nothing more at the moment than to fall into Charlotte’s comforting embrace. “Sophia must be expecting me presently.”

Charlotte nodded, clearly exhausted in her own right. A small smile, however, played at the corner of the younger woman’s mouth — one that Isabella hadn’t seen in days. “Sleep well, my lady,” she said, her tone betraying affection in her use of Isabella’s formal title. 

Isabella could only offer a gentle smile in return, squeezing Charlotte’s hand before standing and moving to depart the room, turning to look at Charlotte once more. With a small nod, she exited the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay with updating this story. School and work make it difficult to find writing time. I can't make any specific promises on how frequently I'll update from here on out, but I will definitely try to post more, especially with the holidays!

Chapter 2

Charlotte was out on an errand when they came. Checking on Nancy’s new “dog” – code for Lord Fallon. Isabella had been in the parlor with Sophia when she heard the door to the brothel open, followed by the young mother Frannie’s voice.

“Hey, don’t you dare barge in here!”

Sophia looked up at her, face nervous at the sudden commotion, and Isabella sought to comfort her daughter in spite of her own worry as to who might be at the door. “Don’t fret, dear. It’s likely just a boisterous… customer,” the older woman explained, as much to quell her own fears. She cleared her throat as though to off-set the indecency, straightening the gold-colored cloak on the girl’s shoulders.

Before Sophia could respond, however, the door to the parlor swung open, and Isabella’s blood ran cold at the sight of Lydia Quigley accompanied by two brutes.

“Sophia,” the harpy gasped theatrically, moving quickly across the room in a feathered hat and fine dress as Isabella postured herself protectively in front of her daughter. “Thank God you’re safe. Your uncle has been worried to death.”

At the reference to her brother, Isabella glared. “She’s made of lies,” the brunette almost growled.

“You must come with me without delay,” Lydia continued earnestly, reaching for the young woman’s hand.

“Do not listen to a word she says,” Isabella continued firmly, looking directly into Sophia’s eyes, trying with all of her strength to remain resolute lest her fear make her a weak target to the viper’s cunning mouth.

“Your mother cannot help her actions, but consider this: what sane woman would bring her child to a low brothel run by the flunkies of a murderess?” As Lydia spoke, Isabella looked helplessly at the door. Surely someone must come to their aid. Mr. North. One of the girls. Charlotte.

Seeing as they were entirely alone, Isabella could only continue to try to explain as grains of sand fell in between her fingers and Lydia gained a stronger grasp over Sophia’s innocence. “This place has been our sanctuary,” she appealed, hoping that her daughter could see beyond the surfaces and not fall into the same traps that she had in the past. Judging good people who had merely been doled out a lesser lot in life. People who, quite frankly, she now saw as having so much wealth in love and care that made her own conditions comparatively penniless in spite of the financial fortune afforded to her by her name.

“She’s hidden you away when you could have had a family,” Lydia shrieked almost hysterically, drawing Sophia’s attention back before she could truly weigh Isabella’s words. “Your uncle is longing to know you.”

“My uncle is a bad man,” Sophia repeated her mother’s earlier claim, looking towards her. “He’s a monster.” The courtier released her breath, hardening her glare against Quigley, hoping that this would be the turning point of this match for Sophia’s custody and trust. Her relief, however, was transient.

“Is that what she told you,” Lydia crooned, a sickening smile coming across her face. “He has been breaking his heart since he learnt of your existence. He wants to make you his heir,” she continued ardently, gently tugging Sophia to fully face her.

“No, no, no,” Isabella repeated, grasping for the fanciful language of her education, the rhetoric that would prove her honestly to Sophia. “Do not listen to her,” is all the courtier could come up with, panic rising in her chest. 

Her heart nearly broke in half at the distrustful look that Sophia gave her. “Why did you forsake me and leave me in that school?”

“You have been in my heart every waking hour,” Isabella said earnestly, trying to avoid tears as she saw Quigley’s men approaching in her periphery.

Lydia looked at her venomously. “You have abused your brother and your child. Come with me,” she implored Sophia, the young girl no longer needing firm prompting. “Let me take you home,” Quigley continued, guiding the blonde out of the room as she gave one more questioning look back at her mother.

“Sophia,” Isabella breathed, fear beginning to subsume her. “This is a vile ambush!” she shouted, desperate to gain the attention of anyone that may here. “She tells you that I’m mad, but I’m true!” the courtier continued to bellow as Quigley’s men held her back, her words her only reach now to her child. “Sophia!”

~*~*~*~

Charlotte grinned to herself as she approached the home on Greek Street, the image of Lord Fallon strung up and despairing still fresh in her mind. While he claimed the contrary, it wouldn’t be long until he cracked. Nancy and Lucy had remained to make sure his ties and gag were strong, while Charlotte indicated that she would start back and begin some supper, hoping that perhaps for the first night in days, anyone might be able to muster a small appetite.

The brothel was oddly quiet when she opened the door, a heaviness in the air that she at first discounted as part of the grief that still loomed over her late mother’s home. Her effort to shake off this unease, however, was thwarted as she was met by a frazzled Fannie in the stairway.

“There’s a problem, Charlotte,” the red-headed woman simply uttered. She gestured immediately for the brunette to follow her up the stairs, explaining further as they reached the hall. “Mrs. Quigley came while you were out. They’re taken the La’ey’s daughter.”

Charlotte felt her stomach drop, and she quickly tried to compose her own worry as she entered the parlor, knowing Isabella must be devastated. The older woman was slumped over on one of the couches, no pretext of manners as she sat fiddling her hands, eyes reddened her face etched with worry. Worst yet, she didn’t even meet Charlotte’s eyes.

“I am so sorry,” the younger woman breathed, sitting on the chair next to her. She moved to grab the courtier’s hand but halted when she noticed that Isabella had made no effort towards her.

“You left me when I needed your help,” the older woman said simply.

Charlotte swallowed, furrowing her brow. “Well, I’m here now,” she tried, maintaining her composure. “With news that’ll bring your daugh’er back.”

At this, Isabella inhaled deeply, her eyes eager. “The confession?”

Charlotte bit her lower lip and sighed. “No… not quite yet,” she relayed, trying to maintain a hopeful tone. “But –”

“We must go at once to my brother’s,” Isabella interrupted, clearly uninterested in the current plot. She couldn’t be.

Charlotte placed a calming hand on Isabella’s. “We must give it more time. Fallon is strung up Nancy’s ‘bout ready to crack. We’ll have the confession. We’ll have all of ‘em.”

Isabella shook her head viciously and abruptly stood up, shocking Charlotte and Fannie alike. “No,” she said resolutely. “My daughter is in grave and immediate danger. I must go home, now.”

“Perhaps you haven’t understood,” Charlotte interjected, her tone laced with irritation that faded entirely with her next words. “You’re safe.”

Isabella could see the deep care in the younger woman’s eyes. But it wasn’t enough. As much as she felt for Charlotte, her love for her child was inexplicable. And right now Sophia was on her way to the den of a depraved monster.

“I understand you very well,” the taller woman replied, looking directly into Charlotte’s eyes. “You’ve taught me to fend for myself. Now you’ll see how well I’ll do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As Isabella departed the Well’s home, Nancy and Lucy returned from securing Fallon for the afternoon.

“Where’s she going?” Nancy asked, noting the tension in both of the other women’s posturing. On any other occasion, she might have joked about a lover’s quarrel. But now was not a time of humor. She wasn’t sure if there’d be one again. Not without Margaret.

“On ‘er own path,” Charlotte explained, turning around with arms crossed defensively. She gave the two women a sardonic smile.

Lucy looked after the Lady curiously, face wearied and well beyond her age, as Nancy relayed their task. “Lord Fallon’s safely trussed,” she said with a nod and a small smile. “Bit of time, he’ll soon confess,” she added, looking to Lucy confidently. The young girl nodded, her own disposition much less believable.

“How you bearing it, sprat?” Charlotte asked, concern washing over her features as she looked on her sister.

“Still swimming,” the blonde replied, swallowing and forcing a smile before giving Charlotte’s hand a reassuring squeeze and heading into the house.

“Poor Lucy,” Charlotte lamented once the girl was out of earshot, standing with Nancy in the door. She sighed heavily and leaned against the wooden frame wearily.

“Come on,” Nancy said tenderly, wrapping her arm around the older Wells girl’s shoulder. She could hear Margaret’s voice in her mind, her last bidding. “Look after ‘em, Nance.” While she had been unsure of her ability to do so in the midst of her own devastating grief, right now, caring for the girls felt like her own way of still caring for her lost friend.

She guided Maggie’s eldest to the stoop. “We’ll sit.”

Charlotte huffed tiredly, hunching over on the small step as Nancy tried to come up with some words to comfort her. “Grief comes in great gusts to blow you down,” she finally said, placing a consoling hand on the younger woman’s forearm. Charlotte nodded, and Nancy couldn’t help but notice some of Maggie’s features on her in that moment – the dogged resilience, the inability to step back from a challenge. Her eyes softened.

“The things men do,” Charlotte said bitterly, face red with tears and anger.

“Shhh, breathe, my love,” Nancy instructed.

Charlotte shook her head defeatedly. “I’m empty, Nance. There’s no heart in here. Not for man nor woman.” Nancy breathed, realizing what this exact moment was about. Not just Charlotte’s heartbreak over her mother, over Lucy. But over Lady Fitz. A small, sad smile overcame her features. “Nothing but stone,” Charlotte mutter, wiping her nose.

Tears threatened to fall as Nancy swallowed the lump in her throat. She couldn’t help but be taken back to when Charlotte was a mere toddler, to when she and Maggie escaped Quigley’s grasps and took up hiding in Covent Garden. To one night when Charlotte was asleep covered in a ragged blanket, resting on Nancy’s leg as she and Mags sat in an alley. The women were sharing a bottle of cheap gin that they had purchased after pooling together some scrapings of their measly pay. It was right around the time Nancy had her first job flogging – an act that surprised her not just in lucrativeness, but in empowerment.

_“I don’t know, Nance,” Maggie had said, taking a swig of the drink from the bottle. She had been no older than Charlotte was now at the time. “Harlots arn’t meant to love. We’re meant to spoil ‘n rot away in the shadows.”_

_“In the shadows or in the red light?” Nancy had kidded sardonically, uneasy at the conversation. She grabbed the bottle from Maggie and took a sip, picking her fingers through Charlotte’s curly brown mop when she noticed some fleas._

_“Oh hush,” Margaret had said, rolling her eyes. “I can be in the shadows or the red light or under Quigley’s silk sheets. It doesn’t ma’er. I’m not meant to love or be loved.”_

_Nancy looked up at her best friend, her dark red hair knotted and dirty pulled into a messy bun, her face red and blemished. She was gaunt from hunger, and her lips chapped from the gin. If Nancy could have, she would have kissed her right there._

_Margaret didn’t see that she loved her. That she had since the moment they had met one another as girls._

_“Little Maggie Mudpie,” she said with a sigh. “You’ll find a person one day who will worship the ground you walk on, mark my words.” Margaret shook her head but softened._

_“Whatever you say, Nancy Face-Ache,” she said with a laugh. The same laugh that would cause Nancy’s heart to beat a little faster for years and years after._

Nancy shook her head. “You have so much heart…” she began earnestly. “The weight is pain.” Charlotte looked up at her, face contorted as she tried not to cry. “Your ma found her love,” Nancy added, mustering a smile. “So will you and Lucy.”

Charlotte breathed heavily, still finding it hard to believe Nancy’s words. “Did you find yours?”

Nancy looked out towards the street, unable to halt the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. “I loved your ma, you silly cunt,” she rasped, giving Charlotte a sad smile. A look of shock crossed Charlotte’s face, followed by simple understanding and sadness. She placed her own hand over Nancy’s and gave it a small rub. They sat like that simply for a moment.

“Go after ‘er,” Nancy finally said, earning a confused look from the younger woman. The older women nodded in the direction that Isabella had left in. “Go.”


End file.
